


Every Me and Every You

by angelheadedhipster



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Kissing, M/M, RORY MAN, SO, The Lone Centurion, The Pandorica, Timey-Wimey, boom - Freeform, but turns out, i have a LOT of, i was like oh this will be easy, matt smith's arm muscles, rory feels, rory/doctor feels, some timey wimey some kissing, this, time and sad and dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelheadedhipster/pseuds/angelheadedhipster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Doctor looked at him, and Rory saw galaxies and horizons collapsing in his eyes, worlds imploding, spinning into space. Funny, he’d never seen that before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Me and Every You

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Brenna](http://buthappyiseasy.tumblr.com/), because a) it was her birthday, b) ages ago she asked for "Rory the Centurion and 11 with the arm muscles he had at Comic-Con" and c) I love her. Happy birthday, bunny.
> 
> Beta'ed, of course, by [nitpickyabouttrains](http://archiveofourown.org/users/nitpickyabouttrains/pseuds/nitpickyabouttrains), who also gave me the title - its a Placebo song on the Cruel Intentions soundtrack, duh.

The 19th Century was boring. Really boring. Rory had lost track of what exact year it was, but it didn’t much matter. He was fairly certain there were not going to be any wars or dramatic explosions or earthquakes or attacks for some time, and he’d gotten all the enjoyment he was going to get out of the long, formal sentences and the silly petticoats.

He’d managed to get the Pandorica out of the city - harder and harder to do as London expanded, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to pull it off. The countryside was safer, but it was boring. The 1800s were just going to have to be endured, it looked like.

He knew how to do that. He wasn’t quite sure if it was a function of the body he had now that wasn’t a body, or if he’d just learned to accommodate to time in a new way, but he could feel his consciousness unfocus, time to start to move by in more of a haze, sludgy and soft, speeding up. He wondered if this was how things always looked to the Doctor - one long hazy stream of lights and sounds, each moment as real or unreal as the next, until he stopped and really looked at something.

Or, more accurately, until the TARDIS made that _vworp vworp_ noise and tossed them all off somewhere new, somewhere unexpected and strange and life-threatening, forcing everything to come into focus very quickly.

_Vworp, vworp._

He missed that sound. _Vworp_ -

Wait.

Plastic eyes were very good, Rory knew, very accurate, so he really could not be mistaken. That was definitely the TARDIS. Standing about 50 meters away, in his field. Smoking slightly, of course.

The door opened, and someone fell out sideways, righting themselves as they hit the ground, stumbling towards Rory and going _Oh, whoops, not good, oh dear_.

It was the Doctor.

It was definitely the Doctor, there was no one else it could be. It was his limbs and chin and those bright eyes, moving towards him with that same stumble-run Rory remembered so well, looking like any minute now he might either fall over or take off into the sky.

He looked different, though, and it took Rory a moment to realize he’d cut off all his hair, buzzed it down to his head, which was strange. It made his head look larger, maybe? He looked tougher, somehow. More imposing.

And he wasn’t wearing his usual clothes, which was maybe even stranger. Rory had seen the Doctor in clothes other than his tweed jacket and one of his absurd bow-ties before - he had a flash, for a moment, of the Doctor stripping off his ripped button-down in the hospital locker room, that very first day - but rarely. Now he was wearing jeans, and a turquoise…well, it had been a few thousand years since Rory has seen one, but he was pretty sure that was a t-shirt. Somehow the normal clothes made him look more strange and alien than his usual get-up did.

Also, Rory thought as the Doctor turned sideways a bit, angling towards him more, he must never have seen the Doctor in shirtsleeves before because, really, he would have remembered that. Where had those - Rory was shocked to find a word he hadn’t thought about in centuries pop into his head - where had those _guns_ come from?

“Rory?” said the Doctor, and Rory’s stomach twisted in a warm, pleasurable way.

“Doctor,” he said, and he was actually beginning to believe it.

“Rory,” said the Doctor again, more sure now, only a few steps away and then, “Oh, no, you’re a Centurion.” He stopped where he was, reeling a bit, and then looked up, towards the sky, spinning in place, once, twice.

“No stars,” he said. “No stars, Centurion…” His eyes went through Rory then, behind him, to where the box was. “Pandorica. Oh. Oh, dear.”

Rory was staring, still, at the Doctor’s eyes and lips and hair and the way he moved. It was really him. He was really here.

The Doctor had been the last thing he’d seen, all those years ago, standing in Stonehenge, his last moment of connection before he started waiting. The Doctor popping in and out, appearing and reappearing, now with a broom, now with some sort of hat on his head. When Rory closed his eyes, sometimes, he still saw him, an afterimage on his eyelids. Like a dream, a world he once knew.

“You look...different,” Rory said, which came out wrong, that wasn’t what he’d meant to say at all.

The Doctor was looking calmer, steadier. Apparently he had decided to stop panicking.

“Yes,” he said. “This body...it was me, once, and now it’s less me. Someone else’s. But I’m still in it, you see? Always will be, even after I go be someone else.”

Rory stared at him in utter confusion for a minute, and then grinned.

“I’ve missed you,” he said.

“Oh, Rory,” said the Doctor, and he was hugging him, all long limbs and sharp bones. The Doctor always hugged with his whole body, did everything with his whole body, threw himself into things, onto things, onto people. Rory squeezed back, as hard as he dared, with his plastic arms and his plastic chest. They were almost exactly the same height, he’d forgotten that. He thought the Doctor was taller. With his head against the Doctor’s neck, he could hear the double heartbeat, faintly, against the shell of his ear.

“How did you get here?” Rory asked as they parted, the Doctor’s hand trailing slowly away from his shoulder.

“Running from a Dharvin initiative - got in a bit of a spot with them, complete misunderstanding, I assure you,” said the Doctor, his eyes dancing. “I tried a bit of metaphysical stunt driving and, well, apparently it didn’t go the way I thought it would. And now I’m here. Where I shouldn’t be.”

“Shouldn’t?” Rory asked.

The Doctor looked at the sky, empty and black in every direction. “This universe doesn’t exist anymore. It never did. It doesn’t exist, not even as a bubble or a thought in the universe that does exist, the real one. I slipped in here, sideways, from a future this universe doesn’t even have.”

“From the future? You mean, after the Pandorica opens again, and Amy and-”

“Yes,” said the Doctor, cutting him off. And then he stopped, and he looked stern, and old.

“Amy,” said Rory. “Amy, does she- do I-”

The Doctor looked at him, and Rory saw galaxies and horizons collapsing in his eyes, worlds imploding, spinning into space. Funny, he’d never seen that before.

“She’s fine,” said the Doctor, sounding resigned. “I promise.”

“I manage to save her?” asked Rory.

“You do,” said the Doctor, and his face softened a bit. “You’re amazing. Like always.”

Rory swallowed that down, put it in the place inside him where he kept things like Amy, and the future, and their lives together, the place that kept him going. He wouldn’t think about it, not now. He would take it out and look at it when he needed it.

“Can you get back?” he asked. The Doctor had sat down by now, just plopped down in the middle of the field, his legs bent up at funny angles. He was leaning on his elbows now, making the muscles in his upper arms stand out. God. Those were...well. “To where you were, where you’re supposed to be?”

“I can,” said the Doctor, watching as Rory sat next to him, cross legged. He’d gotten good at not getting stuck by his sword when he did this. “It will be hard.”

“You don’t have a lot of time here, then,” said Rory, watching as the Doctor wriggled a bit, moving closer to him.

“Ah, Rory,” said the Doctor, but he was looking up at the sky again, black above the trees. “I have as much time as I could ever want. Nothing that happens here...counts. This isn’t real.”

“I know that,” said Rory. He was looking at the sky too now, pulling pieces of grass out from under his feet. “I’m not real. I know that.”

The Doctor’s head turned to look at him now. He was close, Rory hadn’t realized how close. He could see line of his hair where it had been cut short, the peak in the middle.

“I’m never sure how much you remember, of this,” said the Doctor. “In the future, I mean. Well, my past now. Your future.”

Rory was watching his jaw moved as he talked. All the lines of his face were much more dramatic now, without the hair to distract from them.

“Anyway,” said the Doctor. “Everything you do is real-”

But Rory had already leaned forward and caught the Doctor’s mouth in the middle of the word, his tongue forming L, Rory’s lips swallowing the end of the sound. There was a moment of stillness, of Rory kissing the Doctor and nothing happening. And then, and Rory could almost feel it, the blood rushing into the Doctor’s lips, double fast, and he was kissing back, attacking Rory’s lips with his usual fervor, committing wholeheartedly and with everything he had.

Rory shifted, bringing his arms around the Doctor’s neck and the Doctor reached back, his hands crawling up Rory’s chest, exploring and pressing. He was an enthusiastic kisser, of course, but Rory didn’t mind. It had been so long since he’d touched anyone that every sensation seemed extra heightened, every bit of pressure and lick like an explosion in his mind. He felt breathless, dizzy, untethered.

He moved his hands down over the Doctor’s arms, like he’d been wanting to do since he first saw him. His muscles felt amazing under Rory’s hands, strong and solid but supple, responding to his touch with just enough give. The Doctor’s skin was cold to the touch; it must be cold out on this field in the dark. Another thing he’d forgotten about.

The Doctor pulled away from him, warm breath moving over Rory’s cold lips. His hands moved up, framing Rory’s face. It felt familiar, so familiar, and a rush of sadness came over Rory. For the first time in centuries, he felt cold.

“Rory,” said the Doctor, and Rory could feel the sound vibrate through him, buzzing down to his stomach, through his legs. “Fantastic Rory.”

Rory looked back, uncertain what was happening, thinking about distantly-remembered stars in the Doctor’s eyes, when those eyes changed. Something dark uncoiled within them, something alien and new, but before he could figure out what it was the Doctor had lunged forward and Rory was being kissed even more passionately than before, fiercely and desperately. Blood was roaring in his ears as he tried to keep up, teeth knocking against tongues, warm breath panting past his face. The hands on his cheeks were still there, but they felt different now, no longer comforting and sweet. Strong now, powerful, and Rory felt desire pooling in his stomach, shockingly forceful, urgent and needy.

There was suddenly cool air against his face, and the Doctor was moving away from him, up. He reached down a hand and Rory grabbed it, finding himself pulled up and sideways, a confused motion as the Doctor seemed to be trying to still be kissing him even as he pulled him along. Rory stopped them, twice, grabbing onto the Doctor’s muscled arms to hold him still and kiss him as hard as he could, and then the Doctor would start walking again, his arm around Rory’s waist, trying to walk and kiss and squeeze him at the same time.

They stopped, finally, and the Doctor turned. Oh, the TARDIS. That’s where they were. That...that made sense, actually.

The Doctor snapped and the door opened, and Rory found himself pulled into a place he’d tried as hard as he could not to think about for years. The TARDIS was warm and glowing, her lights happily bright as he looked at them. The console seemed to have changed again - it was taller now, white and spinning, strange symbols on panels around the center.

The Doctor followed his gaze, one hand still on Rory’s hip, the other on the railing by the door.

“I could take you out of here, you know,” The Doctor said. “Bring you straight to the end of the story, or anywhere else. We could go travelling, together, and I could even put you back right here and now, afterwards.”

The Doctor was breathing deeply, his lips pink and the skin around them flushed. His t-shirt was sliding off one shoulder, sweat pooling in the hollow of his collarbone.

“No,” said Rory, reaching out a hand to the Doctor’s sternum. “This isn’t real,” he said, tracing the shape of a bowtie where the collar of his shirt should be. “I need to stay where I belong.”

“But,” Rory said, and his hand was on the Doctor’s jaw now, his thumb tracing along his bottom lip, “this is real enough, for now.”

Real was a relative word, for a man made of plastic and a creature from another world. Rory leaned in, and as the warmth of the Doctor’s lips moved against his, he felt time slip and spin around him. The lights of the TARDIS, he thought, got a little brighter.


End file.
